


The Mariner's Memoirs

by Umeko



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Memoirs, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: Earendil writes his memoirs. A semi-serious look at the life of the Mariner.
Relationships: Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Idril Celebrindal/Tuor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried writing more Mornel-verse and crack in an Angband or an Oath-rabid Feanorion setting… but it is not happening. So here is an attempt at crack taken seriously. This is a standalone that may be read without reading any of my earlier crack fics.

I am embarking on my memoirs, partly as a means to cope with the mind-numbing boredom of sailing among the stars. Yes, it sounds novel at first, but try doing the same route over two millennia. Not much for company up here, apart from Tilion and Arien. Actually, Lady Arien hardly bothers with the rest of us. It is probably for the best as the last time Tilion tried to pay her a courtesy call, the Last Fruit of Laurelin set the Last Flower of Telperion aflame. I do not wish to wager Vingilot on getting her to Lord Aule’s before we end up in Lord Ulmo’s realm, worse – Lord Namo’s. Tilion has probably exhausted any conversation topics he has left. The last time I checked, he was trying to weave moonbeams into a net to catch stars. Perhaps he is going a bit loony for a Maia.

Also, it is a probably hopeless attempt to set the record straight for posterity about certain things. I am (well, was) mortal and prone to missteps as the next man, dwarf, or elf. We are nowhere as infallible or heroic as those pesky balladeers suggest. I swear if I hear that Hobbit song about me one more time, I might just steer my vessel into the Void to get away from it, Morgoth or not.

My dearest wife Elwing has kindly agreed to edit the manuscript with the help of our newly-arrived son, Elrond (that is if we can persuade him to leave his own wife to spend time with his mother). Elwing’s tower is a good distance from Tol Eressea where Elrond has set up his household which unfortunately includes his father by adoption. Not sure how Maglor Feanorion managed to give the Valar and Lord Cirdan the slip to take ship. Perhaps Lord Ulmo had enough of his caterwauling by the shore. There was also something about decent folk being struck down with fits of black despair thanks to his singing and jumping off cliffs. Doubt he is anywhere near sane now, but it is hard to tell with the House of Feanor.

Having him about makes Elrond happy. Elrond gets to sate his need to play nursemaid with his foster-father. I for one will not tolerate so much fussing and mother-henning. In Valinor, no one is going to lose a limb or catch a plague, so Elwing believes our poor boy is being bored out of his mind. I suppose everyone in Tirion has heard about the rolling bandage races by now. And that scandal involving that overly-pious Vanyar couple and Elrond setting them straight in a very direct manner on how elflings come about. My companion Tilion did not get that one. Somehow, he still believes children come from thoughts. Or is that a Maia thing again? Back to Maglor – so long as he is quietly ensconced in Elrond’s House and not infecting anyone with his despair, I guess the Valar and everyone are fine with it.

I dedicate my memories to my darling long-suffering wife Elwing Dioriel for having to put up with my long work hours, constant absences, and overall sorry wreck of a marriage thanks to our shared stubborn pride. I really hope we can work things out before the foretold Dagor Dagorath.

\- Earendil Tuorion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little prologue to start things off.


	2. The Little Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earendil's idyllic boyhood in Gondolin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to split the chapter into 2 or perhaps 3. Sorry for the delay, it just kept growing on me.

In the First Age, year 503, I was born a prince in Gondolin - a city of white marble buildings over which my grandfather reigned as High King of the Noldor. My naneth was his only child, and still is. Being her darling son, I was the pampered prince. Needless to say, my early boyhood was spent in blissful innocence of the evil that lurked outside our White City. Of my earliest days, I recall my golden-haired Nana as an ethereally beautiful and gentle presence. That is not to say that she was a fragile damsel in need of protection. She was wise in some ways, and wilful in others.

She loved to dance and sing. She was all flashing feet and swirling silks, a heady mix of birdsong and the scent of roses followed her as she spun and laughed at our games in our jewel of a courtyard in the House of the Wing. Only much later would it strike me that her silver feet were not flesh and blood but were crafted by a master-smith to replace what she had lost before the Moon and Sun first rose.

My father was mortal and the only being in the city to sport a beard. His facial hair fascinated me as an infant, having seen no other until well after the city fell. His shoulders were broad and his arms strong as he carried me aloft so I might glimpse the Lords of Gondolin in all their glory during the joust. My father was a lord himself, but he did not joust. My naneth refused to allow it. I need not see my Ada wounded the same way Lord Galdor was when he was knocked off his steed.

There were few children my age, elven or otherwise, among the noble houses to be my playmates. Perhaps my grandfather did not deem it fit the offspring of a cook or stable master be the companions of a prince. Grandfather Turgon was stern and distant. It was a rare thing for him to smile, like when I brought him an apple when he came to dine with my parents. Perhaps he had forgotten how. He was so tall and so imposing to a young boy’s eye, unlike my uncle.

He was my Nana’s cousin. Sadly, his name is now accompanied with a string of expletives and curses, if ever mentioned. He stood a good deal shorter and slighter than any of the other lords. He favoured the shadows and dark garments as bright colours hurt his eyes. He told me he grew up in a dark forest where the sun never really reached through the trees.

He was very clever with his hands and made many toys and ornaments for the court. He was a smith by training. His House was always busy with orders ranging from earrings to swords. His forge was constantly buzzing with activity. Once my nurse brought me to the House of the Mole as she wanted to visit her brother who worked there. I was left in the forge watching Uncle Lomion at work. He made me a small ship with little oars that steered it for my name-day.

On hindsight, I think the louder lords scared him with their rough and tumble games, just as they seemed too imposing to a little boy at times. He preferred to avoid them all and work on his craft. It was magic how he could weave a delicate necklace from mithril or forge a shiny dagger from raw iron. I was too young then to do little more than watch him work, and he would try to explain the processes like quenching and tempering, most of which flew over my too young head. Perhaps if things had gone differently, I might have become a smith instead of a mariner.

The other lords of my grandfather’s court were mostly a cheerful bunch. I recall tall Glorfindel with his booming laugh and golden hair. He liked to toss me into the air and catch me in a silly game, sometimes until I became sick and my Nana got mad with him. He was everyone’s golden champion at the jousts and cut a fine figure atop on his white steed. There were always ladies swarming about him.

There was his friend Ecthelion with his smiling eyes and silver flute which he made so many beautiful melodies. I still have the flute with me. He gave it to me that fateful dawn to keep safe until after the ceremonies. Perhaps he did so to distract a fretful child. Little did we know it would be one of the few items to spirited away from Gondolin’s ruin. I hear Ecthelion has been long reembodied, but I have no leave to return him his flute, being forbidden to set foot on the ground, even if it were Valinor now set apart from Arda. 

There was Lord Duilin whose House always put in a strong showing at the archery competitions, next to Lord Egalmoth. We could hear his booming voice from across the Square as he drilled his archers. He promised my Ada to train me once I am old enough to draw a bow, some of which stood as tall as me.

There was Lord Penlod, who visited with his arms full of scrolls at my Nana’s behest. He tried to tutor me in mathematics and Quenya but ended up drawing silly sketches to make his student laugh. At four, I was far too young for the schoolroom in his opinion due to my Mannish blood despite my Nana’s insistence otherwise. I recall having to trace out the runes on a slate until she was satisfied. 

Lord Rog was rough about the edges but soft-hearted. He sneaked me a candy apple at the fair once despite my Nana forbidding me any sweets after I broke a window that morning with my ball. I was not allowed to kick balls inside the King’s Hall. In my childish memories the sun always shone, and they always had a smile for a little prince.

Perhaps they never lived through the loss of almost everything they held dear, unlike Lords Galdor and Egalmoth. If they ever pampered a spoilt little prince or played silly games with me for my amusement, the memories were long overshadowed by the harshness of our life at the mouths of the Sirion. I can barely recall them wearing the bold and bright colours so favoured by my grandfather’s court. Garbed in deep green, Lord Galdor and his men stalked cat-like in the darkness ahead as we fled the flames behind us. Together with Glorfindel, Egalmoth guarded the rear to protect any stragglers. I recall that his arm looked wrong in the flickering light. He never wielded a bow again in Beleriand.

There were the ghosts too, both literal and figurative – relatives who lived Outside or had fallen and were hopefully in Mandos. These my mother spoke of in hushed tones as I sat on her lap on rainy nights. She spoke of my grandmother, who drowned before the Moon rose. Her aunt of the dark hair and bold eyes, who stalked the forests alone without fear. She died too. Of my Mannish forebears, my Ada was not inclined to speak of them, though I once heard from my uncle that my Ada’s own father and uncle dwelled in Gondolin for a time. They fell in battle fighting a great evil and protecting the King, my grandfather after Granduncle Fingon was slain. Nana spoke fondly of her Uncles Fingon and Argon, and her grandfather Fingolfin, all of whom never set foot in Gondolin before passing into Mandos.

There were others who still lived and walked in flesh, though not of the House of Fingolfin. Nana spoke in fear and awe of the wild Feanorions, one of whom had survived the horrors of Angband. The same House had two of the best smiths in all Elfdom. There was the Lady Galadriel too, a mysterious elleth who forsook the ways of the Noldor for love of a Sinda princeling. I would meet the formidable lady later in my young life.

On dark, storm-blasted nights, my boyish imagination would paint the ghoulish mirages of my departed relations. Great-grandfather watched over the city from atop the cairn where his bones lay buried. Grandmother Elenwe dripped sea water as she crossed the square to grandfather’s house on silent feet. My granduncles and aunt rode through the city on ghostly steeds of misty grey. Somewhere in the hills, my Mannish grandfather and granduncle cursed Morgoth and shouted their defiance over the thunder.

A week before the city fell, there was a tremendous storm. The Great Eagles were scattered by the wild winds. I fancied I saw the ghosts again and heard their whispered warnings. If I told my nurse, she would have told me it was nothing but too much cake before bedtime and such thoughts were blasphemous as all souls, Elvish or otherwise, were safely gathered into the bosom of Mandos for judgement. This was the teaching of the Valar that guided our lives. I never really thought to question her or warn my parents of the ghosts’ warning. How could I tell them that I dreamt of Grandmother Elenwe at the foot of my bed warning me to beware? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earendil was six when Gondolin fell. He has some memories and happy ones too, but not as many as he would make later in life. About them ghosts, it’s just too many sweets before bed, Earendil. Decided to run along with the less sinister version of Maeglin before Pengolodh started writing his histories of the fall of Gondolin.


	3. The Fall of Gondolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the title.

In Year 509, my favourite uncle went missing for while. He had been scheduled to leave the City to explore a valley Outside for a potential vein of mithril. It was an undertaking he often took alone so as not risk any other elf. No one thought anything of it when he did not return. When he did, I simply knew he had changed.

He smiled more and laughed along with the other nobles in the court, but I just knew he was not him, but something else wearing his face. His smile was different and very wrong. Everyone else seemed to like the new him. Grandfather even said it was a good thing he outgrew his shyness and started taking an interest in court matters. He no longer had time for a little boy. There was something about him that scared me. I think my Nana noticed too, but she was so busy then doing grownup things little elflings were never meant to know about.

There were no more visits to the forge or clever little gifts for the amusement of a child. Instead, the Lord of the House of the Mole threw grand parties that were the talk of the city. There were many gifts of fine gems, skilfully cut, to the lords and ladies who attended them. Even my grandfather and parents were given fine gems, though my parents locked theirs away rather than wear them in court.

Everyone was too busy to listen to a six-year-old boy. Well, except for Hendor the Weary. For an elf, Hendor was old in more ways than one. He only patted me on the head and called me away to the kitchen to be coddled with a bowl of sweet pudding. Perhaps he knew I was right. Everyone thought his mind was a bit turned after he encountered a troll so many years ago and had his head cracked open. His hair grew in white and his face became lined, so my Nana explained. His mind tended to wander off and all he could do was fetch water and chop firewood. No one listens to children and simpletons.

Sometimes I find it hard to recall what my uncle was truly like. Me being so young then and everyone else calling him a monster and a traitor afterwards. Did he love my Nana more than a cousin should? Perhaps he did, in his awkward, one-sided way. There was always an iciness between him and Ada. I understand that Avari ways differ from that of the Noldor when it came to marriage. Perhaps he was a tad jealous of my Ada but he never took it out on me.

The elf that returned to us was not him.

Gondolin’s calendar was marked by grand rituals and ceremonies grandfather brought over from Valinor and adapted to out life in Beleriand. Among this was the Gates of Summer. I recall being extremely fretful that year as if I sensed some impending doom. I drove my nurse and parents to distraction. Lord Ecthelion even tried to bribe me with his silver flute. I finally settled enough for my parents to participate in the ceremonies. That was when our lives were utterly upended.

When news came of the first attackers, Ada ordered Nana to take me and run. What happened next was a confusion of screams, blood, and flame. Nana had prepared a secret tunnel leading out of the city. Together with the other refugees, we fled with orcs in hot pursuit as the walls fell.

Somehow, we were separated from the others of our household by the House of the Mole. That creature that wore my beloved uncle’s face laughed as he held me over the void. I recall Nana’s cries and then Ada was there. I watched my uncle’s body tumble and break on the rocks as a bloodied Ada held me close.

I was handed over to Hendor and we continued our flight. We lost so many in the fall of the city and ensuing flight. Lord Glorfindel slew a Balrog and paid with his life. Many perished of their wounds along the way, too weak and spent to continue. Hendor carried me on his back most of the way, trying to distract me with his silly songs and tales in the wilderness.

It was a long time before we came to an Elvish settlement at the mouth of the Sirion. There we would settle alongside the survivors of another fallen realm. I was young, and resilient enough. The nightmares of fire and orcs that plagued me in the dark hours grew less frequent with the sunny days. Like my family and the other survivors, I started a new life. Being Mannish through my father, my memories of Gondolin soon grew hazy and distant.

Sometimes the dreams of Gondolin and its fall return as I sail among the stars. I still dream of my uncle or that fiend that wore his face that day. I do wonder if he has been released from Mandos and now dwells quietly in Valinor. Or perhaps he chose not to return ever, until the Second Music. I will not blame him for his choice if so.

One of my better dreams was of him at work in his forge, teaching me about the fire that he uses to craft his work. Fire to create and fire to destroy. He sternly chided me when curiosity got the better of me and I almost burnt my fingers on a hot piece of metal.

Perhaps my uncle was never the monster as painted by the loremasters. Perhaps he was just misunderstood and socially inept in a place like Gondolin. After all, who knew what happened to him during his final excursion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really happy with how I am writing Maeglin. I don’t want him to be the canonic evil traitor in Pengolodh’s histories, but it will not be believable for him to be a total doormat as in my parody of Gondolin. Also in question is Earendil’s own memories of his life in Gondolin. He was six, how many of us recall with any accuracy our early life?


	4. By the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earendil writes about another stage of his life.

I look back on my formative years by the Sirion with great fondness. Without a House to run and endless ceremonies of court, my parents spent more time with me. We often shared food around an open hearth with our neighbours and those servants who were once required to eat in the kitchens by custom. I was then allowed to mingle with children of all classes, and even Edain children. There were chores to be done, but we often turned them into a game of seeing who could find the most cockles and other shellfish for dinner.

There were still lessons naturally. My Nana taught me my letters. My Ada taught me more practical stuff like woodworking and hunting. They had Galdor teach me to fight as well. The men took turns guarding the palisades that protected us from any marauding orc bands even so far west. Whatever land we had access to was poor and the crops we coaxed from it meagre. Instead, we relied on Lord Ulmo’s bounty and whatever our hunting parties could find in the coastal forests.

The Sea. When I first saw it, it took my breath away. Ada chuckled and confided that he felt the same. This was no clear fountain, gurgling brook or meandering river. It roared. The winds whipped up whitecaps on the waves and the gulls danced and screamed above it. This was the sight that greeted me where the Sirion emptied into the Sundering Sea. Nana spoke wistfully of a land far beyond, somewhere grandfather has been seeking to return to. There stood another White City known as Tirion.

Among my new playmates was a girl with solemn eyes and hair as dark as a raven’s wing. Elwing. Like me, her people had been forced to flee their homeland. Unlike me, she had not been so fortunate with her family. Only she remained in the care of a handful of squabbling kinsfolk. There was Oropher, who did not like the newcomers from Gondolin at all. Amdir and Thranduil, who definitely had better things to do than babysit little Elwing. There was Celeborn, who was distant kin to me, having married a cousin of my grandfather. Celeborn’s wife thought it fine that Elwing be allowed to play with me though the others thought otherwise. Aunt Galadriel even encouraged it, until Oropher and his supporters voted for Celeborn and her to leave Sirion for the Isle of Balar as our envoys to the High King of the Noldor.

At that young age, most of the grownups’ politicking just flew over our heads. I never really cared much for Elwing’s kin, not even Aunt Galadriel who scared me. No mischief wrought by us could slip past her. The Edain children claimed it was her magic that allowed her to know whether you were lying about that broken pot or missing fruit. Her hair was unique to say the least, all silver and gold. Her sharp blue-grey eyes seemed to catch everything.

When I was about ten, Ada took me to meet Cirdan the Shipwright to be apprenticed to him. No doubt it was at Lord Ulmo’s instruction. I was to build ships, so we thought. Lord Ulmo thought otherwise. Nana knew the signs clear enough when they came on me. She had seen it often enough in my Ada. Once the chores were done, we could spend hours on the beach listening to her song, dreaming of distant lands and open waters. Many times, we would linger until the moon rose or Nana grew impatient and came to get us for dinner.

The Sea called out to us then, as she still does for my adar. I did not understand the first stirrings as a young boy seeing the Sea for the first time. I only understood it grew more insistent with passing of years and the further we are from Ulmo’s realm. Thankfully, Lord Ulmo has already ceded me to the service of Lady Varda, sailing the black sea amidst her stars. The yearning no longer eats at me. For my Ada, he now lives in a cottage by the shore on an island, and takes to open water for weeks on end, to my Nana’s chagrin. 

* * *

I lived for a time with Cirdan on the Isle of Balar, learning about laying keels, raising masts, caulking, and rigging sails. The ships fascinated me. I dreamed of hopping on one such vessel and departing on a journey into the unknown. Of course, such a deed would not be looked on kindly by the Falmari who depended on their ships for their livelihood. There were other more distant reasons of course, an unspoken shame from the distant past. I understood it had something to do with why the Sindar lords did not take kindly to my people.

Time flew under Master Cirdan’s tutelage. Under his mentorship, I designed my first sailing ship meant for open water and long journeys. It was about this time Aunt Galadriel visited and insisted I return home to visit my parents, for my father was mortal and we should treasure the little time we have left together.

Back in the Havens, I saw that the Edain playmates of my childhood had grown up. Many of those who were not carried off by accidents or illness as children were now parents themselves of fast-growing children. They were already worn down by life. The elven children were of the same age as I, yet they were still children by Elvish reckoning. They were far less developed physically than I. It greatly startled me to see my father’s hair and beard streaked with grey, and both his feet and mind had slowed with the creeping of age. My mother looked the same, but she seemed more troubled. Perhaps it was on my father’s account and the dread of their inevitable parting. My father seemed a one possessed. He wanted to build a ship and he desired that I assist him in his task despite Nana’s misgivings. 

It was an awkward reunion. As was my habit, I took a stroll on the shore to escape my troubles. Too much had changed in the years I was away. It was then that I chanced upon her.

Like me, Elwing is of both kindred, Eldar and Edain. She had slowly become estranged from her playmates in the same way as they grew apart from her in maturity and lingered behind in childhood. Afterwards, we would meet at moonrise on the shore. Two lonely souls yearning for understanding. Elwing was a beautiful child who grew into a truly fair maiden. I was smitten to say the least. After all, she held descent from the legendary Luthien. I truly believe we fell for each other that summer.

Perhaps our elders were caught unawares, having no idea how us children of mixed parentage would grow. If we had been fully Eldar or Edain, Elwing’s guardians would have kept a firmer eye on her instead of allowing her the freedom to roam as she did. My parents would have sent word to her many uncles to formally seek her hand in marriage. No one ever thought to give us that talk, which I understood was given to Edain children in their teens and Elven ones in their fifth decade of life in most families. Instead, we were left to struggle with what had been a friendship between two children blossoming into something more.

We had always been comfortable with each other’s company. Perhaps I fancied we would be as my parents. I did not realize how much we were still children at heart despite our mature bodies. I did not understand Elwing as well as I thought, at least not then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hindsight on Earendil’s part on his relationship with his wife.


	5. What Happens in the Dunes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two youngsters start their explorations, then the grownups panic. Shotgun wedding in the works.

No one gave us that talk since our Elvish guardians thought us too young. Perhaps if Elwing’s parents lived, they might have noticed the signs of maturity creeping on her. Or given her Ada married young, perhaps not. My Nana expected my Ada to give me guidance there, save my Ada was more interested in discussing the Sea and his planned journeys with his son. Well, to be fair to my Adar, he did ask if there was a maiden I fancied on Balar. I replied no in all honesty, and we left it at that. I did not want to get Elwing in trouble for sneaking out at night.

It was not proper for Elwing’s handmaidens and mostly male guardians to do so. Perhaps Aunt Galadriel could and would have, had she not been stuck in Balar sulking after a disastrous family dinner involving her Sindar in-laws and grilled waterfowl. I was absent from the event and my Nana’s advice was to never bring it up ever until Arda breaks. As for Lord Cirdan, he was wise and a mentor for me in many fields, but whenever some lad asked about ellyth, he would admonish the apprentice and refer him to his parents. We believe Cirdan has never embraced any elleth in that manner, at least not then.

By some fluke we managed to work things out from those chance observations of courting couples, Edain and Elven alike. I suppose the waves and the moonlight might have something to do with why couples loved to have their trysts in the dunes, the same dunes where Elwing and I would meet. It was like everything just fell into place just as the Valie Yavanna intended.

On hindsight, it was not the wisest thing we did.

* * *

It was around this time my father’s shipbuilding project was completed. As planned, my parents packed for a long sea journey and left on the _Earrame_. They were never heard from again for many a year. Yes, they missed our wedding in its entirety, despite what later scribes may claim. My parents never stood with me on that special day.

I thought of returning to Balar, Master Cirdan, and the half-built ship of our design. I dreamed of her beauty, sleekness, and strength on the waves. My dear _Vingilote_ is all that and so much more now with the blessings of the Valar. The week after my parents sailed off into the unknown, Elwing and I met at our usual night-time picnic spot in the dunes. I was starting to miss my parents and Elwing gave me a hug to make me feel better. Hugging turned into cuddling and kissing. Out of all nights for Legolas of Gondolin of the sharp eyes and loose lips to lose his goat, it had to be that night.

He did not find his missing goat but spied us cuddling. He returned to the marchwardens’ campfire in enough of a fluster for his lord Galdor to demand what was wrong. Legolas blurted everything about what he saw in the dunes out, in front of Galdor, Egalmoth, and about a half-dozen of Elwing’s Sindar nobles.

After falling asleep in your beloved’s arms, one does not appreciate being awoken at spearpoint by her irate kinsmen. Fists flew and curses too. Lords Galdor and Egalmoth managed to rally up enough Noldor to hasten to my rescue. Noses were broken, heads cracked, and eyes blackened. It was then that Aunt Galadriel stepped into the fray and commanded everyone to stop least we have a Third Kinslaying in Sirion. Little did she know her words will be prophetic. When Lady Galadriel speaks, everyone listens. Eru help them fools who do not heed her.

A weeping Elwing was whisked off by the older womenfolk to be grilled on what we did or did not do. I was placed under guard lest I try sailing back to Balar. We were both in trouble. In that moment, I sincerely wished my parents had remained in Sirion instead of being taken off Eru-knows-where by my Ada’s sea-longing. Master Cirdan popped in to give me stern talking-to. He had sailed over to the mainland to check why I was taking so long to return.

A council was held. Elwing was marvellous once she had gotten over her fright. She declared before her kinsmen that we were hopelessly in love and she would have no other for a husband. Looking back, she might just be parroting the words of her famed ancestress. As my Edain friends put it, one has to make the best of a bad situation and her uncles looked as if they might arrange for me to fall off a cliff somewhere. The decision was made for the both of us to be wed, since by Eldar norms, lying with other was the same as marriage. We did not understand what we were getting into, seriously.

Lord Celeborn took me aside and gave a stern lecture on my new responsibilities as a husband and future father, which really took the shine off things. The hasty preparations for the wedding were a trial for me but at least Elwing seemed to enjoy the fuss her ladies were making over her. There were heirloom dresses and jewellery dug up. Given that both our people were forced to flee our homes under attack, it was a miracle so much survived from Gondolin and Doriath. Elwing enjoyed dressing up for the ceremony in fine silks. Me? Not so much.

My mates, at Cirdan’s behest no doubt, decided to throw a party for me to bid farewell to my bachelorhood. One that involves copious consumption of dubious alcoholic drinks. After which, the lucky groom was stripped and lightly whipped with a willow switch for luck and dusted with soot. I do not recall much of the party, but I do recall being rousted from my bed with a monster headache so Cirdan and Legolas could scrub me down in cold water and get me marginally presentable for the formalities.

I sincerely believed we might have made it through. That was until her people decided to give her the Silmaril they had hidden away under lock and key all this while to wear for the wedding. When she cast eyes on that necklace, everything changed. The gem unsettled me from the very minute Elwing’s old nurse clasped it around her charge’s slender neck. I knew of its dark history and if the Feanorions were to call on us then, I might have willingly ceded it to them. The Feanorions have laid their claim to it, but I doubt they would be so foolhardy to attack us, being of Noldor extract as well.

Elwing? She was entirely bewitched. Even after the ceremonies, she refused to be parted from it for more than an hour, for fear it would be stolen. I do wonder if it was some weakness in the Sindar royal and Feanorion line that holding such a gem seemed to rob them of all good sense. Just consider the fates of the royal house of Doriath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure Elwing will write different spin on the wedding ceremony and marriage. Perhaps she edited it before sending it to the publishers.


	6. On the Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple have a very rocky start to their lives together. Elwing’s mental and emotional state is worsened by her possession of the Silmaril.

Most speak fondly of their honeymoon, a time of bliss early in a union before reality sinks in. For me, it was like running aground on a sandbar on leaving the harbour and being stuck there for all and sundry to gawk and laugh at. After we were done with our nuptial night, I was roused by a grumpy Sinda valet with my new fancy clothes. Apparently, I was now their prince consort and obliged to join my wife in smiling at and greeting her people. I suspect most of them would not pass up the opportunity to lob rotten tomatoes at my face.

I tried seeking assistance from Lords Galdor and Egalmoth, only to be advised to take my new wife’s lead as this was the secret to a happy union and domestic life. Just look at my parents. I do believe my Nana was more lenient with my sire. Not that Elwing would mind much what I wear now she has that fancy gem to play with. But court protocol, you know. I was reluctantly put into my fancy new clothes so I may join my bride. To add insult to injury, Egalmoth insisted I wore Noldor court garments, which made me wish I had accepted the first set of clothes brought to me in my chamber that morning. At least breathing would have been easier.

We did lie together, as was expected, but it was hard to let ourselves really go with random servants knocking at inappropriate times to ask if we needed a bath run or more wine. No, we do not need help getting ready for bed, thank you very much. I can unbraid my wife’s hair alone. It became a race to get it over with before some idiot strolls in with a midnight snack from the cook. On hindsight, we were both idiots. I am sure shoving Elwing’s dressing table against the door might have given us some privacy.

By now, Elwing’s interest in me had been replaced by her dear Ada’s Silmaril. She would go all blubbery at times about her lost family, which really puts a damper on any ardour on my part on most nights. We never had this issue when we were out in the dunes. I blame the Silmaril for that. Look, I did try to be sympathetic, but I thought they would have gotten her over that by now. No one showed me any sympathy when I started wondering if my parents were never coming back. I had not met Lord Ulmo then and I do not know if he might welcome my parents or sink their ship.

Six months into our union, everyone and their wife were questioning as to why there was no sign of any heir to fallen Doriath or Gondolin. I packed up my bags and headed back to Balar where Cirdan and I finished building the _Vingilote._ It took the better part of a year. Once the ship was ready and seaworthy, I sailed her home to my wife. On reaching the coast, I found she had her people build a tower where she stayed with her Silmaril glowing atop it like a lighthouse. If the Feanorions spotted that glow, methinks it would be a matter of time before we receive a letter of demand from Maedhros. Flaunting it in their faces was too much of a provocation. I was surprised when no attack came during my time away. Still, I had a word with Egalmoth and Galdor about strengthening the defences, seeing Elwing refused to put away her precious necklace.

The years that followed were a domestic disaster. By our third year, we were snapping at each other when Elwing was not absorbed by her necklace. The room at the top of the tower was small and we kept getting into each other’s way. I moved out of her room in the tower and shacked up with Egalmoth and the guards on the pretext of maintaining our defences. I took to spending more time away sailing and exploring along the coast. At least my ship does not whine about a headache or get paranoid about me wanting to surrender the Silmaril to Maedhros. Look, I did receive a letter from a member of the House of Feanor, but that was Celebrimbor who somehow continued using his grandfather’s seal on his letters despite repudiating his father. It was nothing but a business transaction concerning an order of nails for Cirdan’s shipyard. I spent the last two weeks of that visit barred from the tower by her guards.

My conjugal visits also became less frequent when I was in the Havens. It became a matter of duty for the both of us when Elwing did allow me to lie with her. Our people were still waiting for an heir and being half-Mannish, they did not know if we were immortal or susceptible to old age. We owed them that reassurance at least.

As to my explorations, the Sea-longing bit and it bit hard. I was happiest away from Sirion, away from the demand of being de facto leader of the survivors of Gondolin and the Sindar, and away from the stranger the Silmaril turned Elwing into. Naturally, my absences did not endear me to the Sindar nobles at all. I counted at least five thinly veiled threats towards my person during one dinner alone.

Perhaps I held out hope that I might run into my parents during my voyages and direct them to return to the Havens and lift some of the burden of leadership off us. It never happened. I never saw my parents again until after the War of Wrath, and that was from a distance.

I know the bards have crafted many ballads about my heroic adventures during this time. Most of which are grossly exaggerated. About that spider, for example. I did not encounter Ungoliant. I doubt I will be here writing my memoirs if I did. Moreover, we understand Giant Spiders are a forest-dwelling or terrestrial species, and unlikely to be found at sea or on the coast. We did not encounter any giant spiders unless you count that palm-sized tarantula I brought home from the south as a present for the boys and got myself banned from seeing them for the next two cycles of the Sun.

Also, the first and only dragon I slew was during the War of Wrath. I did not ‘quench my sword in dragons’ blood’ during my voyages, like a certain irksome bard formerly of Menegroth put it. Having to escape unfriendly native Secondborn after accidentally burning down their longhouse down south, getting chased by ice-bears up north… the list goes on. Who in my crew can forget that little misunderstanding with an island chieftain that saw me ceremonially wedded to his cow-sister literally?

I do wonder why no one has written about those less-than-heroic but more truthful anecdotes. Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valour. One does not go about looking for monsters to fight and expect to live a long healthy life. I might have had Lord Ulmo’s protection, but Lord Osse and the storm-Maiar do get carried away at times with their games. There was no guarantee the next storm Osse whipped up would not be the one to break Vingilote’s back.

* * *

By year 532, our people’s prayers for an heir were answered. I only found out I was a father to six-month old twin boys when I sailed in for a visit at Aunt Galadriel’s insistence. I had been looking forward to spending time with my mentor. Yes, Elwing’s letter went missing somehow or she forgot to write to me at Balar. I was not even given a chance to name them before Elwing had another one of her episodes and barred me from seeing her, our boys, and more importantly to her, her Silmaril. I hated that gem. 

After being barred from seeing my sons, I set my mind to finding proper father-names for them, which is difficult given I barely knew them. A sailor of Avari descent informed me that his people left the naming to the mothers for the first twelve years of their children’s lives. The fathers named their offspring formally afterwards, so that was no need for me to go giving myself a headache yet. Little did we know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earendil has had it with his wife and the Sindar by this stage. He is also being brutally honest about setting the record straight on his adventures. He cannot figure out what exactly is wrong with his wife apart from her obsession with the Silmaril. Doubt they had any healer skilled enough to guide Elwing and Earendil through their issues. 
> 
> Elwing will probably rewrite this chapter as well.


	7. My Little Starfishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some folks should never be trusted with children, even their own. Unfortunately, Earendil and Elwing fall into this category, not for want of trying though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earendil tries to be a good father but fails on all counts.

Honestly, I have no experience in child-rearing – Mannish, Elven, or mixed. Still, I was alarmed when at the age of four and a half, my sons were still unable to speak. All they did was babble to each other in no known language. I even got Cirdan to visit in case they picked up some Avarin or obscure Mannish tongue from their nurses. My sons seem to go through their nurses at a most alarming rate. Every time I am in town, I meet a different set of nursemaids attending to my children.

I tried to speak with Elwing about my concerns. She shut me out of the room after I suggested I take the boys on my next sailing trip. I mean, surely it will be a good start to give them their sea-legs early in life. No, I definitely did not think that one through. On hindsight. A ship is the last place a toddler should be.

Using his rugged charms, Cirdan managed to convince the nursemaids to leave the boys with him for an afternoon on the shore, which was probably the only time I got to see them. Not sure if they remembered me picking up starfish from the rock pools and showing it to them, or that sea urchin one of them stepped on. I could not tell them apart. I mean, they were identical. Wonder if this had any influence on their decision to choose differently in their Choice.

Not sure what exactly went wrong but I was shocked to learn from Cirdan Elwing has not yet got round to naming our sons too apart from embroidering ‘El’ on both their bibs before losing interest. The nurses named them both El and stitched the same this on all their clothes. So my boys had no actual names for the six years they were in her care. I do hope she was not intending to name them for her lost brothers. Scribbling up a whole list of names for consideration during my long hours at sea, only for Lord Osse to wash it overboard.

Elwing? By now, we had given up on her sanity. She spent her time locked up in the top of her tower with the Silmaril. That tower was like a flipping lighthouse for miles about. I was informed much, much later that Maedhros wrote a letter to Elwing demanding she stop flaunting the gem and provoking their Oath. Of course, the letter went ignored.

The boys spent their nights with their mother, but otherwise they were left to the care of their nurses in the lower tower. No need to bother her in the day now both boys were weaned. Hardly any visitors, no playmates their age, just shut up in their little nursery with each other. Aunt Galadriel tried to talk sense into her, but Elwing would have none of it. Aunt Galadriel has no child of her own to speak of and no experience with younger siblings. Aunt Galadriel left the tower after giving me her implicit support should I decide to bundle my sons onto Vingilote and bring them to Balar so they might start growing like proper elflings should be doing. She even offered to look after the boys should I run afoul of Lord Ulmo. I declined. Aunt Galadriel was and is still too much of a force for elflings to be reckoning with.

I was growing increasingly desperate with a wife that was not really all there, missing parents, and possibly developmentally stunted children. Well, Cirdan recommended I give them more time as they might be late bloomers. Something about jellyfishes slumbering for years before blooming in all their painful stinging glory. He also recommended I spend more time with them – but Elwing did not like having me about them and getting into another spat with her was too exhausting.

Give me the freedom of the waves any day. I did not really have any hopes of finding Valinor despite what the bards claimed, but it proved a good excuse for my travels. Head west far enough to be out of sight of Sirion, then turn north or south and head east. I do not wish to run afoul of any watery Maia or Vala. Perhaps I might even find inspiration on how to name my sons before their twelfth year. Anything better than Cirdan’s Starfish and Sea-Star. So I thought.

Elros and Elrond got their names from their kidnappers turned foster family in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With parents like Earendil and Elwing, was it any surprise Elros and Elrond grew to love their captors Maedhros and Maglor? I believe Galadriel might be more capable with child-rearing than Earendil gives her credit for. She might have been in Menegroth when Elwing’s brothers were very young and helped Nimloth with them. 
> 
> About those jellyfish, yeah. It is real science. There is a jellyfish whose polyps can spend years quiet on the ocean floor before erupting into a bloom as adults when the conditions are right. Then they can revert back to the polyps stage and wait for the good times to return when things get tough. They are biologically immortal.


	8. Onwards to Valinor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens and Earendil has to deal with the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a good deal of procrastinating and a bout of the flu, I have turned up this little chapter.

No one really expected the Feanorions to snap. On hindsight, they did quite a fair job holding off in their Oath for as long as they did. I shall not enquire as to how many letters of demand they sent to Elwing in my absence. It was to my understanding that it was the three middle brothers who led the charge at the Sacking of Doriath. Perhaps we were all mistaken about how much control Maedhros had left.

I never expected anything untoward that night a seagull flew into my sail and stunned herself. Our standard action would be to bag the bird for a possible breakfast side. At least until said gull transformed into my wife Elwing, complete with that damned Silmaril. Not sure why I didn’t just chuck that stone overboard, perhaps I thought it might be worth something in trade. No, there was no nonsense about me wearing that stone on my brow like those silly bards claimed. I never went for bling, which was a bit of a surprise to my Noldor kinsfolk, even now.

I was wondering what I did to offend Lord Ulmo and his Maiar to end up with a hysterical wife on board. Once we got poor Elwing calm enough to start making sense, we realized our home was probably up in flames. I spent a good hour or so cursing Ulmo for not saving my boys as well. Does one need to hold a shiny stone to get their attention? Of course, Olorin will probably start his spiel on sacrifices for the greater good. All the well for him to say, given he was not the one who had his sons brought up by two dangerously unstable guardians. Fine, Elwing was a bit flaky, but at least she is no kinslayer.

I was debating whether to risk my crew and wife by returning to Sirion to try getting our babies back when who should pop up but Lord Ulmo himself. Basically, he wanted me to hand over the gem and he would lead us to Valinor. Oh, and he gave us reassurances my parents were alive and doing well on some island and my sons were in good hands. Naturally, I did not buy his fairy tale, so he decided to just drag us all to Aman, Vingilote, Silmaril and all.

Well, I did not agree to any deal and if he wanted to act all pirate-like about it, I was not giving him that stupid gem without a fight. The minute we made landfall, I took the Silmaril and hopped off my ship with Ulmo roaring behind me. There was this golden-haired guy Eonwe waiting on the quay who offered to take me to meet the King of the Valar. That shut Lord Ulmo up. Great. I suppose if he is the king of the Valar, we could get an army to go back and thrash the Feanorions to avenge my sons.

It did not work out the way I expected though. The Valar took an awful long time to get anything done. I had loads of time to share our experiences in the Hither Shores as they call it with our new friends. In the course of offering to fix up my ship, Lord Aule made her fly. I accepted the offer as she was looking a tad battered after being dragged to Aman by Ulmo after all. Elwing settled in with her distant kinsfolk in Alqualonde and they even built her a tower like the one back home. Then came the Choice. We both chose elfhood. It would be really awkward to put our newfound kin off by going grey and dying in the Mannish style.

There was some pesky rule about us no more setting foot on Middle-earth or Beleriand. The only way I could bypass this was by accepting the job offer of carrying the Silmaril through the sky on the prow of my new and improved Vingilote. No, I do not wear it on my brow like the bards claimed. It is my prow, not brow.

Flying took a bit of getting used to. I had Great Eagles guiding me along. Let’s face it, those birds are far more agile than my vessel could ever hope to be. You will never catch me doing loop-the-loops and somersaults through the clouds. Part of me missed the sea, but on the other hand, I did greatly piss off the Lord of the Waters and I am not too sure of his goodwill.

Somehow, I managed to get myself a place in the great army from Valinor heading east to smite Morgoth. Wait now, I would be content just smiting the Feanorions to avenge my boys or getting them back alive and well. When did Morgoth get into the equation? I mean, that problem has been bugging Arda before the Sun and Moon rose. Why now? If you meant to do something about it, you could have acted earlier, like before Gondolin fell. Or did I just happen to waltz in amidst your big war council to smite Morgoth and got caught up in it?

It was about this time as I was kissing my now far saner wife farewell that I reflect that the Valar had no clue what we are doing at all. I mean, downing a few tankards of ale with Lord Orome and having him go all maudlin about Celegorm the Fair? Or listening to Lord Aule singing praises of Feanor the smith and his son? I did not swear any false promises to Elwing about our boys. I had no guarantee after all the years spent in council with the Valar if they were still alive, taken in by a loving family or what not. I had the sense that they might not be that keen on coming to Valinor at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earendil senses he is caught up in something way, way over his head. During the time Earendil is sitting in council with the Valar, his boys are being brought up by their loving foster dads.


End file.
